


Smoke and Mirrors

by peonies



Series: university with the crew [3]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Angst, Gen, Parent Death, Post-Canon, University, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 13:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9125932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peonies/pseuds/peonies
Summary: Kurosaki Ichigo goes home to meet with Ishida Uryuu and the ghost of Ishida Ryuuken. Ignores 685+.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place 6 years after The Long Summer. ***Content warning for discussions of abusive parenting.***

The invitation to Ishida Ryuuken’s funeral and wake came in black ink between the leaves of a little white card, a brief note written in Uryuu’s neat, angular hand. Of course, it didn’t explicitly say that it was an invitation – he probably thought it was too vulgarly personal to outright _ask_ people to come – but the implication was there, nonetheless, and what were friends for if not reading between the lines? 

Ichigo took a sleeper train back to Tokyo and then transferred to a smaller local line, suitcase in tow. Karakura station hadn’t changed a bit, not even to update the screens showing departure and arrival times. He sank himself into the familiar bustle of commuters squeezing through the exits, somehow managing not to touch each other. From there, he made his way home.

The sun was setting, all white-hot silver stars set in purple smoke which issued from a radiant golden fire in the west. His heart ached with nostalgia. Even the streets were the same, paved over a few times in his absence but still quiet. Some of the convenience stores on the corners had changed their names, but the buses still lumbered slowly from one stop to the next, heaving their old chassis across the asphalt. He remembered waiting for these buses, picking up his little sisters from school in the sweltering summer heat and the freezing cold of winter. Every corner of the city beckoned to him with the promise of memory.

He arrived at the door of the clinic to the loud delight of his gray-haired old man, who literally left a patient alone in the middle of a check-up in order to attempt murder on his only son by crushing his ribcage in a bear hug. He’d never admit it, but he missed being home, missed these streets and these humble buildings and this lazy river. He always would. Home was home, no matter how far away he went, no matter how old he got. And some part of him would always recognize this as the jyuureichi, where it all started and ended and started again.

Prying his father off of him and sending him back to his patient, he proceeded into the house, only to be attacked again by Yuzu. She was taller now, and wore her hair longer, although her face was still soft and concerned. She almost cried when she saw him and was on the verge of tears until he started to tease her about it. She immediately began to lecture him about never visiting or calling (which, by the way, he considered unfair, because he called at least once every two weeks barring emergencies, and even then emergencies were part and parcel of a doctor’s life), interrogated him about how things were going with Michiru, and helped him unpack.

Karin was long gone, enrolled at some American university on her way to a master’s degree, and she called even less than he did. At least he was only on the other side of the country; she was on the other side of an ocean, practically across the world. With only Yuzu and the old man at home, everything was strangely laid-back. His youngest sister had turned out to be just as responsible as her sister, but she was still kind of a pushover, so the house was messier than he remembered. The mail was piled up on the dining room table, unsorted. He wondered with a fond exasperation how they didn’t drown in the clutter, much less manage to keep the house from burning down once a week.

His room was almost exactly as he had left it. Most of his things were packed away in boxes, but the essentials still remained: the bed, the mattress, the desk, the rug, his chair, his lamp, some old and fragile posters whose colors had been bleached by the sun. The bedcovers were plain and modest, and the ceiling light still hadn’t been cleaned of the three or four insect corpses that rested inside the bulb. It was strange, but familiar. He almost expected to slide the closet door open and find Rukia glaring at him.

The thought made his heart clench. Those days were long gone. His badge, more often than not, lay at the bottom of his bag, under receipts and water bottles and scrubs and gym clothing. He was more concerned these days with the affairs of the living, since the dead were taking good care of themselves. Sapporo was fully staffed with shinigami.

He emerged from his room for dinner and promptly returned to collapse onto his bed. It turned out that Yuzu wasn’t an awful chef, and combined with his father’s own… _passable_ cooking skills, they scraped by nutritionally. He wished he could stay longer than the weekend, but he was sure his director would teleport into his room and skewer him with an IV pole if he took off that much unscheduled time. While the hospital he worked at wasn’t quite understaffed, it also couldn’t quite afford to have even its greenest, most incompetent medical students dashing off at a moment’s notice. It was difficult work, but his patients seemed to like him, and he was pretty sure his resident trainees worshipped the ground he walked on, which confused him.

He liked living in Sapporo. He had friends there. A life. No baggage, no supernatural struggles to contend with. He was just Kurosaki Ichigo, a fun yet down-to-earth guy, and a good friend even if he was on call at nearly all hours of the day. Someone to come to with problems, someone to invite to dinner. And for Michiru, someone to come home to.

It was almost difficult to believe he’d left anything, or anyone, behind. And then the invitation came, and it all came rushing back. The sweat, the tears, the blood, the laughter that left him bent double and breathless, the confidence that let him tell himself that anything was possible. His friends. Inoue, Chad, Ishida, Tatsuki, Chizuru, Keigo, Mizuiro, and so many others. Days spent at the arcade, or wading in the river, or doing nothing at all, and brightly-lit, colorful nights filled with the music of cicadas and crickets. Their bridges were long, now, because they had grown so far apart.

The pale shadow of Ishida Uryuu hadn’t crossed his mind in months. He felt a little guilty about that, but they talked occasionally, exchanged greetings on holidays and paid visits whenever they were in town for one reason or another. Ichigo knew how awful it felt when you forced yourself to smile or chat when you didn’t want to, so he’d tried to let his friend have his peace and control how often they talked.

Maybe that had been a mistake. Ishida’s invitation, if you could call it that, was as stiff and formal as a starched collar: _I regret to inform you that my father, Ishida Ryuuken, has passed after a long battle with pulmonary carcinoma. His funeral service will be held in the Karakura Municipal Cemetery Temple at 2PM on the fourth of December. The ceremony will be followed by a short memorial reception. As per the wishes of the deceased, please do not bring any gifts. Instead, donations to the Karakura General Hospital are appreciated. Thank you._

No greeting, no real invitation. Clean and clinical and emotionless, almost sterile, as though it had been composed on an operating table instead of a desk. He’d thought they had been better friends than that. Or that they still were. As it was, he had no idea what to make of it – was Ishida inviting a friend? A colleague? An acquaintance? Short of asking him directly, there was no way to know. He’d sent him an email telling him that he would be attending the funeral, but he hadn’t received a response. Which was understandable, considering the circumstances under which Uryuu had received it. He worried himself to sleep, imagining all the different ways their interaction at the funeral could play out. Most of them ended up with him embarrassing himself, but he was used to that by now…

* * *

Morning came with no ceremony. Yuzu knocked on his door to call him down for breakfast, and for a moment he was fifteen again instead of twenty-six. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and pulled on a shirt, then stumbled down the stairs to eat. Rice porridge, pickled vegetables, boiled eggs, nothing too hard on the stomach (or too hard for Yuzu to cook). Something he’d feed an invalid, really, but then again, most of his breakfasts came in a plastic bag and needed to be microwaved in order to be edible. He wasn’t a dietitian, after all. Isshin ate quickly and rushed to open the clinic; he’d have to close quickly at around noon, too, in order to prepare for the funeral. 

The thought of it turned the delicious, hot food in his stomach into a cold, fist-sized stone. He had never seen much of Ishida’s father, but from what he had seen, he was… intensely unlikable. His father, who had actually been friends with the man, had more reason to attend than he did; he was simply going as a favor to a good friend, or so he hoped. Ishida Ryuuken had been a cold and inaccessible ex-soldier, a widower who had never quite recovered from the loss of his wife, who had practically left his son to be raised by his grandfather. That was essentially all he knew, besides some implications here and there that the Wandenreich had seemed content to scatter their conversations with. By all rights, he should have been glad that Ryuuken was dead, but he wasn’t. Because if Uryuu had turned off again, he couldn’t stick around to pull him out of the whirlpool of his own anxieties, because he had to go back to Sapporo and help run a hospital, because he had a job and a life and a boyfriend and friends that he would never endanger as a reckless shinigami.

And what did Uryuu have? That’s what worried him. 

Yuzu didn’t attend the funeral. She wasn’t invited, and she said she was fine with it, because she knew even less about Ryuuken than Ichigo, and besides, _it’s such a lovely day, and funerals are so gloomy._ He didn’t blame her for being relieved. It was indeed a beautiful day, a little breezy but sunny, too, the sun peeking through breaks in the clouds – a perfect picture of early autumn. When he buttoned his shirt, pulled the knot of his black tie close around his neck, and threw on his suit jacket, he found himself wishing that he could show up in a white-belted shihakushou, just like the Gotei uniform. But Ryuuken, his father tells him, considered himself to be a modern man, and wouldn’t it be rude to wear a shinigami’s clothes to a Quincy’s funeral, anyway?

The ride there was short but tense. Isshin, despite his nonchalant exterior, was very close to just breaking down and bawling the whole way there. Ichigo sensed this and it made him extremely uncomfortable, so he stared out at the world through the passenger window the entire time. When they pulled into the parking lot outside Karakura Municipal Cemetery fifteen minutes before the ceremony, it was difficult to find somewhere to park. Some gaunt old men and women dressed in black entered the building through a glass door as Isshin turned the engine off. They exited the car in silence, then headed through the door as well.

There was a short entrance hall which extended into a hallway with several rooms spaced out between them. Only one set of doors was open. It was cold inside, almost aggressively cold, and he buttoned his suit jacket, shoving his hands in the pockets of his slacks. It reminded him, in a roundabout way, of some of the conferences he’d attended: well-dressed older folks standing around talking about who knew what while he looked around desperately for a familiar face. A shock of amber hair at the entrance to the room sent a jolt of recognition through his brain.

“Inoue,” he called. Some of the older women glared at him for raising his voice, and he lowered it to avoid a lecture. “Hey, Inoue.”

She looked up at him, and her gray eyes were the same, and her round face and pointed chin were the same. Her hair was still long, but it was tied up behind her head, and Shun Shun Rikka was nowhere to be seen. She wore a black dress and a black cardigan with black tights and black heels, and a sad, solemn expression that made her look forty instead of twenty-five.

“Kurosaki-kun,” she said, and her lips curved up into a faint smile. She still looked sad. “It’s good to see you here.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to smile back at her. “Yeah, well. This is important.”

She nodded. “Do you want to go in?”

Ishida Ryuuken’s coffin was closed, and sat elevated amongst a modest assortment of flowers and candles. His unsmiling portrait stared apathetically from behind it all. In the far corner, Uryuu was talking in a low voice with a priest in a tall black hat. His back was turned to the mourners, who quietly filed in and arranged themselves on the rows of chairs. There were about a hundred people there. Ichigo guessed that they were mostly other hospital employees, because Ryuuken must not have had that much of a social life if his greatest friendship was with Isshin. He looked around, trying to find his father in the crowd. He spotted Chad in the back, and their eyes met. He gave a little wave and Chad returned a half-smile. When he finally found Isshin, he was sitting between two short gray-haired men in the first row.

Uryuu sat down in the front as the room filled up. Ichigo only caught a glimpse of his face, and he couldn’t get a proper read on the expression there. He didn’t hear anything the priest said at the beginning of the ceremony, and he didn’t understand any of the sutras. He just fixed his eyes on Uryuu’s narrow back, trying to decode the straightness of his spine. There wasn’t anyone with him. The rest of the Ishida family was dead or gone. Uryuu was alone.

He clenched his fist on his thigh. No wonder the invitation had been so short and plain. None of them had been in Karakura for years, except Uryuu. Chad had been called in from doing some survey or another in Argentina, and Inoue had been studying psychology in America. Keigo and Tatsuki both moved to other prefectures for work, and Chizuru was in France with her fiancée. As far as he remembered, Uryuu was a researcher in a laboratory in Tokyo. He was a chemist. He commuted by train. Mizuiro was never really close with him and Isshin never mentioned how he was doing whenever they spoke, so the only person he might have talked to on a regular basis was Urahara, who was conspicuously absent.

 _You said you’d keep in touch,_ he accused himself.

It wasn’t like they’d just left him. They’d all left each other. They were all over the world now, doing different things. They still spoke, still got together when they could, but they weren’t kids in high school anymore. Soul Society didn’t need them now that Yhwach and Aizen didn’t pose a threat. They’d suffered together, fought together, but they were still young. They still had long, normal lives ahead of them. It was inevitable that they would grow apart. He’d ended up running all the way to Hokkaido to avoid thinking about the things he’d done. The memories had been too strong.

But no matter how well he could justify it, he still felt like he’d abandoned one of his best friends. It was because Uryuu had stayed while the rest of them left, like a grave-sweeper, to tend to the places where their memories slept.

At some point people started to get up to offer incense and prayers. He turned to Inoue to see if she wanted to get up, too, and saw her wiping tears from her face.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, putting his hand on her shoulder.

She nodded, sniffing. “We should go up,” she says.

So they did. He felt strange, bowing to Ryuuken’s portrait, and when he put his hands together to offer a prayer, he had no idea what to say. They put incense on the burner, Inoue wiping another tear from her cheek with the back of her wrist. He still couldn’t see Uryuu’s face from this angle, so he still had no idea what his friend was feeling. He didn’t even know if he was crying. And his brain kept replaying that one summer evening, that one conversation, the responsibility that hung on his shoulders, the burdens he’d forgotten about. The important things.

After the ceremony ended, Uryuu and some attendants took the coffin away to the crematorium. Inoue was worried. She wasn’t crying anymore, but her eyes shone with something like sadness or regret. He walked her out of the building, Isshin close behind.

“Do you want to come home with us? I wouldn’t want to be alone, either,” he said.

“Yes, please,” she said, voice trembling.

Ichigo sat in the passenger seat while his father drove, and Inoue sat behind him. In the rearview mirror, he could see her slumped against the window, staring at the buildings as they threaded their way through the traffic. He wished he could say something. He wished he could say the right thing. He wanted to be able to cheer her up like he used to, but they’d been apart for so long, and he didn’t know how to do that anymore. But they were adults. It wasn’t his responsibility. He was done with all of that.

_Why do you keep acting like you’re responsible for me?_

_Because I am!_

He felt sick.

* * *

They sat outside, in the garden. Inoue was still dressed in all black. He was still in his suit. Isshin made a point of cleaning the place a few years ago, to let patients’ kids have a place to play while they waited for their parents. The jade plant was the only part of the old, overgrown mess that remained. There was a proper bench now, and the grass had been neatly trimmed before it died. A red ball, the old rocking horse, flower boxes. Inoue’s breath fogging in the air to his right. She hadn’t wanted to go inside, so they were sitting out here, silent, not looking at each other. They were both blaming themselves for something. Not speaking, not visiting, not doing whatever it was that friendships forged in blood and fire obligated them to do. Not rebuilding old bridges they had no use for. Not, in fact, having a use for an old friend. Being able to carry on without him. 

Inoue stared at the ground, rubbing her hands together. Her cheeks were red in the cold, hands pale. He had pockets to put his hands in, and thick jacket sleeves. She just had her flimsy black cardigan. How was she not freezing?

“Kurosaki-kun,” she said, so quietly he almost didn’t hear it. “Do you think he’s okay?”

“I don’t know,” he replied truthfully. “Even if he hated him, Ryuuken was still his father, you know?”

“I guess… but I meant… in general.” She still wasn’t looking at him.

“Probably not.”

“I wish he didn’t have to go back to how it was before we met.” Inoue hugged her waist. “I thought he was going to change, just like us.”

Ichigo shrugged helplessly. “He should have.”

“He doesn’t know how! I thought we taught him, but we didn’t. He only knows how to work.” Her voice grew louder. “That’s all he’s ever done. Train, work, and fight. He didn’t have any friends until he was fifteen! I know what it’s like, I know what it feels like to lose your whole family, but when I didn’t have Sora anymore I had Tatsuki and Chizuru and all the girls at school, even if they thought I was stupid and made fun of me! And when I look at Ishida-kun all I see is what I could have been if I had no one at all. And he deserves better than that. He’s a good person.”

On impulse, he put his arm around her narrow shoulders. She looked up at him, startled, tears glittering in her eyes again. He wondered if she was the only one who could really understand Uryuu, and he wondered if he could ever really understand someone who did. Inoue dropped her gaze and he moved to lift his arm, but instead of pulling away, she leaned her head against his shoulder and put her left hand palm-up on his thigh. He clasped it with his other hand and rested his head on top of hers, where he couldn’t see the tears that dropped down her cheeks.

“I know he’s a good person,” he said softly. “But we’re not responsible for his happiness. He might’ve saved you during the wars, but you paid it back. You’re not in his debt.”

“I just want him to be happy. I am. So is Sado-kun. It feels like we left him behind.” She sniffed, raising her right hand to wipe her face. “Are you happy, Kurosaki-kun? In Sapporo?”

He had to think about it for a moment, because he didn’t know if what he felt was happiness or not. Was it even possible to be happy after all the shit he’d gone through? When he first started working in Sapporo, it was with the intention of going back to Karakura after he completed his residency. But years had passed since then, and he felt like he belonged there, living under the same mountains, firmly entrenched in the same network of colleagues and companions, dating the same sweet guy. With Michiru, with the hospital, he felt satisfied. He felt like he was at peace. Maybe that’s what Inoue really meant – or maybe she’d found out some secret about life that he hadn’t, and probably never would. She always seemed to be one step ahead of him.

So he said “I don’t know,” and felt her shoulders rise and fall as she sighed, and didn’t say another word. 

* * *

20:41 ISHIDA U  
Do you use this number anymore? 

20:45 (ME)  
yeah are u ok? 

20:48 ISHIDA U  
I’m fine. I just wante to know

20:49 (ME)  
are u sure? 

20:53 (ME)  
ishida r u drunk 

20:58 ISHIDA U  
Should I be? 

20:58 (ME)  
do you want m 2 come over?? 

21:00 (ME)  
hello? 

21:05 (ME)  
ishida i know ur reading these

21:11 ISHIDA U  
yes

* * *

Uryuu was nothing if not a creature of habit. He lived alone, in the same neighborhood, one apartment complex down, on the second floor. When he knocked on the door, he heard something like a pot clanging, then a brief pause. When Uryuu opened the door, it was the first time he’d seen his friend in person in nearly one and a half years. 

His face wasn’t gaunt, but it wasn’t full, either; Ichigo would have described it as “severe,” like a schoolteacher or a senior instructor at a dojo. The lines of it were sharper and more defined. His rectangular rimless glasses had been traded in for black oval frames that sat low on his nose. Black hair fell in a straight fringe over his forehead, but the rest of it was neat and short, just like he kept it in high school.

“Ichigo,” he said, almost surprised.

“Hey,” Ichigo said tentatively.

“Come in.” Uryuu waved his hand vaguely and then turned on his heel.

He didn’t look drunk, but there was an open bottle on the table. He plopped himself down in the middle of the couch and straightened his glasses, rolling up his sleeves.

“Hel-lo,” he said, the sounds heavy on his tongue as if he was trying to make sure they still worked.

Ichigo sat down tentatively next to him. “How much did you drink?”

“Not much.” He pointed to the bottle, which looked like it had barely even been touched. Ichigo stared at it for a moment, then shook his head and picked it up. He took a drink, grimacing as it burned its way down to his stomach.

“Like it?” Uryuu folded his arms and leaned back, resting on the cushions.

“You should eat something if you’re going to drink this.”

“Can’t,” he said, eyes turning upwards to look at the ceiling. “It all tastes bad.”

They sat in silence for a while. Ichigo drank a little more, just enough to make everything feel a little bit fuzzy. He had no idea what was going on in Uryuu’s head – his expression was thoughtful but absent, as if he wasn’t really there. Ichigo put his feet up on the table to test him, but he didn’t object. That was how he really knew something was wrong.

“So,” he said, “What have you been doing? I mean, besides – the funeral. And everything.”

Uryuu hummed. “Working, mostly. At the lab. I get to work on my doctorate, but… same old. What about you? Still in Sapporo?”

“Yeah. I think I’ll be able to start practicing in a couple of years, if everything goes well. It’s just a lot of work.”

“How’s Sakamoto-kun?”

Ichigo shrugged. “Good. Stressed out about rotations and stuff, but he’s been handling it pretty well. He told me to, uh, give you his condolences.”

“Oh. Well, tell him I said thanks.”

“Sure.”

They lapsed into silence again for a bit.

Uryuu tapped his fingers on his knee. “Is – is your dad okay with it? You didn’t say. I mean, I know he doesn’t – he’s fine. But is it…?”

 _You don’t have to dance around it,_ he thought in a flash of irritation. “You mean is he okay with me dating a guy? Yeah. He hasn’t, like, changed his mind or anything. You know my dad. He’s mostly worried about our safety. But he’d be worried if I lived anywhere except his house.”

Uryuu nodded vaguely. “I don’t know how my dad would have reacted. That’s what still gets me, you know?” He shifted on the couch so he was sitting with his back against the armrest, rubbing his eyes. Ichigo frowned as he noticed the dark bags under his eyes. “I didn’t know – I don’t know anything about him. Doesn’t that…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, but Ichigo could supply any number of endings to that sentence himself, and he had a feeling they’d all still be correct. _Doesn’t that mean I’m a bad son? Doesn’t that mean I was selfish? That I didn’t pay attention? Doesn’t that mean our relationship wasn’t as good as I thought it was?_ He wasn’t usually too good at picking up on feelings, but he could read Uryuu like a book after having known him for so long. The harder thing was knowing what to say to that, because he didn’t even know where to start.

Eventually, he decided to open with maybe with the most basic thing. “Did you love him?”

“He’s – he was my father. Of course I did,” Uryuu said bitterly.

There was something more there. “Did you _like_ him?”

That gave him more pause. “I… don’t know,” he said, and sounded miserable. “I kept thinking a while back… If we’d just met, if we weren’t – related, we wouldn’t have been friends. I wouldn’t have wanted him around. But we are, so it’s not that easy.” He bit his lip for a moment, thinking. “I want to like him. I always wanted to like him. I don’t like that I don’t like him. If that makes sense.”

“It does,” Ichigo replied, even if he only half-understood what Uryuu was saying. Uryuu, however, seemed to pick up on that, and shook his head.

“Sorry. I’m… out of it. With the funeral and everything, it’s been a really long couple of weeks.”

Ichigo reached for the bottle and picked it up before his friend could. “Yeah. I know.” He placed it on the floor. “What do you want to talk about?”

Uryuu shrugged and Ichigo could see him clamming up again. “What is there to talk about? Dad’s dead. Life will go on. Just wanted some company.”

“Then why didn’t you tell Inoue to come over? Or Chad?”

He stayed silent for a while, which is how Ichigo knew he’d managed to stick his foot in the door. Still, it was uncomfortable and awkward and he would have regretted it if he hadn’t known that something was seriously up with the guy.

“I don’t know,” he admitted finally, frowning. “Inoue-san lost both of her parents and her brother… Sado-kun never really knew them, and his grandfather passed away before I met him… I guess I wasn’t looking for advice.”

“So you texted me ‘cause I’m the stupid one,” Ichigo prompted.

“Not stupid. Just… I didn’t want anyone to tell me what to do.” He sounded lost.

“You sound like you do.”

Uryuu shook his head. “Dunno.”

“Fucking moron,” Ichigo said affectionately. “Five years ago you were at each others’ throats. And he was an asshole.”

“You’re not supposed to talk that way about dead people,” Uryuu warned him half-heartedly, but Ichigo gave him a withering look.

“It’s not like they give a fuck, you know. We’ve hung out with ‘em.”

It got a laugh out of him, at least, but it faded quickly. “I just – don’t call him that, okay?”

Ichigo shrugged, partly out of curiosity and partly to provoke him. “Why not?”

“He was still my father.”

“Doesn’t mean shit. He was a person, just like any other person, and he doesn’t get a free pass on everything he did just because you’re related.”

“Do you even know what he did?” Uryuu’s voice came sharp and frighteningly sober.

“No,” Ichigo replied evenly, keeping his composure, “but you hated him for a long time, and I’ve never seen you treat anyone else like that. So I know he did something.”

“That’s none of your business.” Short, defensive.

Ichigo groaned. “Then why the _fuck_ did you call me over? To catch up? Is that why you’re trying to get drunk on convenience store liquor?” He picked up the bottle to illustrate. “We’re all worried about you and you won’t let us do anything to help, even when you ask for it, so _explain.”_

Uryuu looked down at his hands like a guilty kid. Ichigo almost regretted saying it that way, but then again, he had no idea how else he could have phrased it. Facts were facts, and Uryuu was Uryuu. That was the problem.

Finally, he shook his head, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. “Never told anybody. But… he shot me once. Before we went to Hueco Mundo. Right here.” He pressed the tip of his index finger into his chest, right next to his heart. “And… I wasn’t expecting it. I thought he killed me. I really… really thought he killed me. But he gave me my powers back instead.”

Ichigo stared at him. Without his glasses, Uryuu looked more vulnerable. It was like seeing a knight without his armor. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting to hear – it didn’t seem like Ryuuken was the type to hit or yell, but who knew what went on behind closed doors? Maybe something more – _normal,_ he thought gingerly. Not that hitting or yelling were normal, but he imagined that most sons who got shot by their fathers didn’t live to tell the tale. He tried to imagine his own father doing something like that, but he couldn’t. Isshin had been rough, heavy-handed, and an inadequate role model, but he would never have done – _that._

“He always found a way to make it sting,” Uryuu continued, an acrid bitterness creeping into his voice. “Even the good things.”

“Is that why you left home?” Things began to fall into place. He didn’t like it, but that’s what they were doing.

“Yeah.” He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, trying to calm down. “I was pretty stupid back then, though.”

Ichigo frowned. “Just sounds like you were trying to get away from him.”

“I think I always make it sound worse than it was,” he said, shaking his head. “Need some air.”

It was a two-man effort to slide open the door to the tiny balcony, because it kept sticking in its track. The balcony barely had enough room for them to sit with their backs against the railing, one on each side; Uryuu used his foot to slide the door shut, then shoved his hand into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

He must have seen the expression on Ichigo’s face, because he tossed the box to him after thumbing out a cigarette and setting the filter into the corner of his mouth. He was still too surprised to react, so the box hit him in the chest and fell onto his lap. Uryuu almost smiled at that. He picked it up, turning it over. The red label and silver-foiled letters were familiar – his dad used to smoke a lot more, and he remembered that there’d be a box on the counter every so often. He looked inside. About half the pack was gone.

“I didn’t buy them, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Uryuu said. “They’re his. He’s just got ‘em – lying around.” He cupped his hand around the end of his cigarette to shield it from the wind as he lit up. Ichigo watched with morbid curiosity.

“When did you start?”

“When he started treatment,” he said. “I know, it’s ironic. And stupid. But it still feels like he’s around, this way.” The ember on the end of the cigarette glowed orange as he inhaled. He lifted his chin to blow the smoke out above them. The scent came back down, and it smelled like home, a little bit. A home he thought had stayed in his childhood, along with toy cars and rocking horses.

“You know, it’s funny,” Ichigo began, leaning his head back against the railing of Uryuu’s balcony. The light from the apartment only reached so far across Uryuu’s face, leaving half of it in darkness. “I never understood why my dad and yours were friends, but I guess this is what they had, too.”

“What?” Uryuu said curiously. The corner of his mouth quirked up, and he took the cigarette out of his mouth. He held it between his thumb and index finger; for some reason he remembered seeing Ryuuken holding it differently, between his index and middle fingers.

“Time. Just to kick back. Get drunk, shoot the shit. Have a smoke.”

“Maybe.” That sounded wistful. “Wish we could do it more often.”

“Yeah.”

The sound of distant traffic floated in on a slight breeze. He still missed Karakura, that was for sure, and the familiar map of lights leading out into the distance tugged at his heart. And he missed Uryuu, too, for what it was worth, but it might not have been enough. Not enough to bring him back, or keep up with him. Not enough to give him more of a place in his life than all of the other ghosts in his past. Not enough to know that his father was dying. He wondered if Uryuu resented him for it, but he was too afraid to ask. But Uryuu seemed to be thinking along the same lines, too, so he didn’t have to.

“I didn’t tell anyone after he got the diagnosis,” he said after a while. The cigarette was much shorter. He tapped ash off against the railing. “He knew it was terminal, and he didn’t want anyone to know… I mean, he didn’t tell me, but I knew. Me and the core staff, and your dad. Not that I had anyone else to tell, but...” He shrugged. “Still felt like I was bottling it up. And I was mad, because I was used to it, but I didn’t want to be, and he wouldn’t let me break the habit even when he was dying.”

Ichigo stayed silent, turning the pack of cigarettes over and over in his hand. He could feel something pushing against the cracks in Uryuu’s wall. Another plume of smoke pouring from his lips and nose, another tap of the cylinder against the railing. The ash scattered away in the cool night air.

“The worst thing is, I know he wasn’t always like that. I remember, kind of. Before our moms died. But then somewhere along the line, he just… lost his patience, I guess, and never got it back.” He scratches his head, then sighs, hand dropping back onto his lap. “I dunno. I keep thinking the way he acted wasn’t as big a deal as I felt like it was, that it was just because I was a kid and I thought every little thing was the end of the world… and never really seeing how other people were raised… I thought it was normal, almost, if it wasn’t for being a Quincy. I didn’t like it, but I thought there must be plenty of people like Ryuuken, and even if there weren’t, it wasn’t like we were the same as the others, because we were the last of the Quincy… but then again, I think that’s pretty fucked up.” He ground the butt of the cigarette out on the cement floor, biting his lips, then gestured for Ichigo to throw the pack back.

Ichigo considered withholding it, but threw it back anyway. Uryuu caught it, flicking the top open again and lighting another cigarette.

“Thanks,” he muttered, smoke spilling from his lips. “I know I sound stupid. Sorry.”

“You don’t,” Ichigo tried to reassure him. “It’s gotta look different from the inside, I guess.”

Uryuu shrugged. “I don’t know how different it looks. Sometimes I feel like I’m watching from outside when I think about it. He never hit me. Maybe if he had, I would have snapped earlier. The whole getting shot thing was different.” He laughed shortly. It sounded like glass cracking. “I didn’t expect it. I thought he was just being a hardass. Turns out it was an old Quincy ritual for restoring lost power, and he didn’t tell me. I don’t know if he enjoyed seeing the look on my face or not. I don’t think he did, not as much as I thought back then. But maybe he did, just a little bit, and that pisses me off. He could have told me what he was really doing, but he didn’t. I don’t know what he was thinking. I don’t know if I could ever understand.”

“So why are you telling me not to bad-mouth him again?” Ichigo said, half-jokingly.

Uryuu shrugged, taking another drag. “Because he didn’t know how to raise a kid, I guess. He didn’t even know what trying was supposed to look like. Your dad told me he practically had to raise himself, and I believe it. He expected me to be just as strong. But I wasn’t, and I’m still not.”

“That doesn’t make him a good person.”

“Sure.” He shrugged again, tapping his heel on the floor restlessly. “He’s still my dad, though. I don’t like him for it, either, but… I guess I’m just trying to make this one thing normal.”

“I guess.” Ichigo was kind of lost, to be honest, but he thought he understood part of it. To hate someone for what they did, but to still not be able to let go of love for the person they could have, should have been. Too complicated. And very much Uryuu. “I should visit more.”

The shape of Uryuu’s laugh appeared in white smoke. “Don’t worry about me, Ichigo. I’ve been doing fine.”

“Clearly,” he grumbled.

Uryuu shrugged. “If you want to ask something, you should ask. I don’t mind.”

The cigarette burned down, and the sharp, acrid smell of it was starting to make his nose burn. Uryuu tapped the ashes off against the railing again, but the breeze caught some of them and laid them on the leg of his pants. He brushed them off with a finger.

“When did you start smoking, anyway? Thought you were always trying to get him to quit.”

Uryuu shrugged. “A month… two months? When it kind of set in that it was going to be over. Not very often. But he’d… be tired, you know, didn’t want to eat, didn’t want me to see him. And the smell was…” He shook his head. “It was like he was still there. The old Ryuuken that I remembered. And then after he passed, I – it was even worse. So. He liked this brand. At least I know that about him.” Turning the pack over in his hand, he slid it back into his pocket.

“It’s not good for you,” Ichigo found himself saying, but he knew Uryuu would laugh at him before he actually did.

“Yeah. I know. If I keep it up, maybe I’ll end up exactly like him. Or maybe I was always going to, anyway.” He ground out the other cigarette but didn’t move to light another one, folding his arms over his knees and leaning against the wall of the apartment.

“You don’t hold them the same way.”

He looked at him, brow furrowed. “What?”

“You hold it like this,” Ichigo said, making an OK sign with his fingers. “Your dad held them like this.” He made a peace sign with his palm facing in.

Uryuu looked at him like he’d grown another head for a moment before he understood what Ichigo was trying to say, which, truth be told, Ichigo didn’t quite understand himself. He half-smiled.

“So, not exactly the same.”

“Nah. You’re too…” He waved his hands around vaguely. “You speak your mind too much.”

“That’s hilarious, coming from you.”

“I’m an honest guy. Fuck you.”

“Fuck _you.”_

They relaxed in the silence. Ichigo scratched his arm. It was getting cooler, but he didn’t quite feel it, since the liquor was warming him up. He’d missed this, with old friends. Just kicking back and doing whatever it was they felt like doing. The light from the apartment cut diagonally across Uryuu’s face, so he could see the blue iris of one eye, and the shadow beneath it. Things were different now, whether he liked it or not – whether he was here for it or not. But other things… other things stayed the same that should have been different by now. He felt, more than ever, surrounded by all of the possibilities that they could be, should be, might still be if there was still time. If they had the courage for it. If Uryuu was up for starting over again.

Uryuu broke the silence like ice underfoot.

“I still don’t get it, though. I don’t understand how I could have fixed all of it. Or if it’s something anyone could have fixed. How was I supposed to trust him? With anything? I knew we were never going to have a normal relationship, but I wanted to. Once I saw what other people had, I guess. I always hoped he’d come around more than he did.”

“You think he thought the same way?”

He shook his head. “That’s the thing – I don’t know. I don’t know what he wanted. Maybe he did want us to be a family. Maybe he was trying. But it wasn’t enough for me to forgive him for everything else. And… I keep thinking that maybe we could have made it right, one day. That we just ran out of time to do it.”

“Not everything works itself out. Doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying, right?” He tried to make it sound reassuring. He probably wasn’t doing a very good job.

“Yeah.” Uryuu chuckled, then dropped his head into the crook of his elbow, voice tight. “That’s all I ever do. Try. And this time I finally ran out of chances.”

He stared at Uryuu for a few moments before the shaking of his shoulders clued him in to what was happening. It occurred to him that he’d never actually seen him cry before. That he’d thought him to be beyond that, somehow. It was a stupid realization to have. Ryuuken was dead and Uryuu was alone. But he still hadn’t thought he would cry, for some reason. He wanted to reach across the gap between them and put his hand on his shoulder, but he wasn’t sure if he’d appreciate that. He’d always been a hands-off kind of guy.

Which was the whole problem. They wanted to help him but thought he needed space, that he was uncomfortable with intimacy even though he’d been willing to die for them. Even though he almost _had_ died for them, time and again. He was scared to ask too much and they were scared to give too much and he ended up with nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Uryuu croaked after a long moment, dragging his sleeve across his eyes. “I just don’t know what the hell to think. He wasn’t evil, so I can’t hate him. But he didn’t give me any reason to love him, either.”

Ichigo shrugged helplessly. “Maybe you don’t have to do anything about it. I guess at this point whatever happened… happened. And it’s done.”

He shook his head. “Maybe. I don’t know. It feels like it’s too late already.” His voice cracked, and he winced in embarrassment.

“For what?”

“To change the person I’m going to be.”

“You’re not even twenty-five yet, dude. There’s plenty of time to change.”

He seemed to take some time to choose his words, sniffing occasionally. A sleeve was used for certain purposes. Ichigo shifted against the wall, stretching one of his arms, wondering what he was going to say.

“I made a promise,” he said. “To Inoue. We’re supposed to meet up again next year, to see where things go. I don’t know if we should. Not if I’m still… like this.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighed. “Bitter, I guess. About everything. And she’ll know if I am.”

“I don’t think she’ll give a damn. You were a bitter asshole in high school and she still liked you.”

“Having a crush on a jerk when you’re fifteen is one thing. Making an adult decision to date one is completely different.”

“I didn’t mean that you were actually a jerk,” Ichigo said, exasperated. “I mean, you were stuck up and everything, but when it comes down to it, you had the right intentions.”

He groaned. “That’s what I mean. I can have all the right intentions in the world, just like he did, but if I can’t actually be good to her, then it doesn’t matter. If I end up acting anything like him… I can’t bring that into her life.”

“You seriously can’t remember anything good about him?”

He looked at Ichigo with tired eyes. “What?”

“Look, I might think he was one hundred percent a terrible person, but you lived with him. What did you _like_ about him?”

Uryuu picked at his sleeve, lowering his gaze. “I don’t know. I guess… he worked hard.” He shrugged. “He was disciplined, good at his job.”

“Okay. That’s literally—” He cuts himself off. “You think Inoue shouldn’t have someone in her life that’s any of those things?”

“But those aren’t the only things I got from him.”

Ichigo smoothed his hands over his face in frustration. “So what? You don’t even know what kind of person you are, if you think you’re like him. You don’t know what she wants or what she thinks of you, and you won’t know until you fucking _talk_ to her and she tells you. You’re so certain about the stupidest shit, Uryuu. She’s a human being. There’s stuff about her that you probably won’t like, either. That’s what relationships _are._ People working through their issues because of love, or whatever. You’re _supposed_ to try to be a better person.”

He almost held his breath, waiting for Uryuu’s response. He was deep in thought again, worrying his bottom lip, looking somewhere beyond his shoulder.

“How did you know you liked Michiru?”

Ichigo blinked in surprise. “Uh, we were friends starting from, like, the first semester of college. I always liked him.”

Uryuu shook his head in exasperation. “I mean, _liked_ him.”

“Huh.” He scratched his chin. “I dunno. I hung out with him more than anyone else, talked to him about more shit than anyone else… I wanted him to think I was cool more than anyone else, too. But I didn’t know that I was in love with him until he told me he felt the same way.”

“Like what?”

“Like… he enjoyed being around me. And he liked the person I was, and wanted to help me become whatever person I’m becoming. And I wanted the same thing for him. So.” He shrugged. “I felt that way about Rukia, too, but I guess I didn’t understand it the same way when it came to guys. But everything was pretty natural after I got that figured out. Doesn’t hurt that he’s a straightforward person.”

“I never really thought about stuff like that before,” Uryuu mused.

He rolled his eyes. Of course he hadn’t. “What, liking boys? Or having a crush in general?”

“I’ve never really thought about that, either, I guess.”

“How about going up to Inoue and asking her out instead of picking a date to meet and go over things like you’re scheduling a doctor’s appointment?”

“We both agreed to that.”

“Yeah, so you’re both stupid.”

Uryuu groaned. “She’s the only person I’ve ever liked in that way. That’s not enough data to draw a conclusion one way or the other.”

“Data,” Ichigo repeated slowly. “Fucking romantic as fuck, dude.”

“You know what I mean!”

“So you asked me about my love life… why? So you could sort yours out?”

“I don’t think so. Maybe just to see that something good could happen, after everything.”

“Well, there’s your answer. It can. And I guess you get a bonus tip, too: you’re actually a likable human being. Surprise.”

He scoffed at that, but in a strangely gentle way. “You’re too kind.”

“You’re damn right I am. I just spilled a bunch of deep shit to make you feel better.”

“Thank you.” That was sincere. “You didn’t have to. I’m sorry if it came off like I was only interested in your life because of my problems.”

Ichigo gave him a half-smile. “I’ve barely talked to you for four years. Sorry if that came off like I was a giant piece of shit.”

Uryuu laughed, wiping his eyes again. “It’s fine.”

He pretended to yawn. “Whatever. Can we drink now?”

“What time is it?”

“Who the fuck cares what time it is? Are you going in to work tomorrow? Didn’t you just plan a funeral?”

He stood up and stretched, reaching for the handle of the door. It took a moment, but Uryuu got to his feet and helped him pull it back. It got stuck one or two times, but eventually they got back inside and closed it again, and Ichigo rooted through the fridge for food to eat while drinking. There really wasn’t much there, except takeout and some other non-liver-endangering drinks. He put some of the takeout in the microwave, grabbing glasses from one of the cabinets and pouring them both some water.

They kicked back, got drunk, and shot the shit together. It was like the gap had closed. Ichigo knew better than to think it actually had, though. It would take a while. Uryuu knew that his heart was in the right place, but like he said, if he couldn’t actually show it, then what was the point? He didn’t want to lose this friendship. He didn’t want to leave Uryuu alone with his dead dad. But the idea that Uryuu hated him for leaving him here in Karakura for all these years seemed silly now, in retrospect. The only people he actually hated were probably that shinigami scientist freak, Yhwach, and the architects of the Winter War. The guy was too good in his bones, too forgiving. He hoped Uryuu never had to forgive him again.

“Do you still have the dreams?” he asked, when they were both beyond reaching for the bottle again.

Uryuu nodded. “Sometimes. But not as often. I think I’m okay if it never – goes away, completely. Or gets fixed. And I guess that goes for everything. Even him.”

“Yeah.”

“Mm,” he hummed, reaching for his glass of water. “Well. Here’s to being okay with it.”

“To being okay,” he said, and tapped his glass against Uryuu’s.

* * *

23:45 SAKAMOTO M  
Hello? R u alive 

11:04 (ME)  
i am alive lol sorry 

11:10 SAKAMOTO M  
What the fuk dude 

11:12 (ME)  
IM SORRY  
i had 2 teach uryuu some life lessosn adn now im hungover 

11:13 SAKAMOTO M  
Drink water  
Did u learn nothing from med school -__- 

11:14 SAKAMOTO M  
Is he ok btw? 

11:14 (ME)  
no but i thnk he will be?  
im gonna try to be a better friend any way 

11:16 SAKAMOTO M  
That’s good  
He sounds like a good person. 

11:29 (ME)  
he definititely is  
he let me sleep on hsi couch  
its a shitty couch but it was sgtill cool of him 

11:30 SAKAMOTO M  
What a br0  
Are you home yet? 

11:31 (ME)  
yea just got back 2 my roo m  
gotta pack and then ill be on the rain home  
^train 

11:34 SAKAMOTO M  
Ok sounds good  
BBQ tonight? :) 

11:40 (ME)  
FUcK YEAHHHH 

11:42 SAKAMOTO M  
Lmao ok 

11:55 (ME)  
also i told him the sotry of how we met LOL

12:01 SAKAMOTO M  
U wat  
Did u tell him the part where I flirted with u to ur face for a whole month and u said “wow Michiru ur such a positive and friendly guy” :’D 

12:02 (ME)  
YES  
I SAID I WAS SORRY  
FUK U 

12:03 SAKAMOTO M  
Looooooooooooooooooool  
Ok my lunch break is over  
Msg me when ur ready to get picked up 

12:04 (ME)  
ok  
i like u btw

12:04 SAKAMOTO M  
Wow I like u too we should date or smth  
Fk u 

12:05 SAKAMOTO M  
My coworker read that does this count as PDA

**Author's Note:**

> I DID IT I GOT IT OUT BEFORE THE NEW YEAR ALSO I'M SORRY


End file.
